


Just Thought, Just Deed

by sweet potato (swt_potato)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: COUNTER/Weight Spoilers, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), This one is pretty sad!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swt_potato/pseuds/sweet%20potato
Summary: A Candidate assumes his role.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Just Thought, Just Deed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm reposting this story here, which I originally wrote as part of Secret Samol 2017. I hope you enjoy reading it!

He couldn’t see the uniform getting any more comfortable. Attar Rose tugged at the tight bronze collar around his neck holding up the Diasporan dress robes. He was sweating lightly, less from the bright Glimmer sun than from the feeling that a looming Something was slowly encircling him. Or maybe that was just the collar.

He rested his arms on a small circular table, one of a few dotting the balcony of the ceremonial building. Smooth pillars bore the load of the ceiling overhead. He sat alone, on a chair that felt just barely stable enough to support his weight, and looked out over a vast emerald sea.

A light mechanical whirring from behind drew his attention away from the ocean view. Attar turned around to see a mobile coffee machine, cylindrical and about two feet tall, slowly rolling towards him. He smiled lightly – the Automatic Corp had never quite succeeded in creating a machine totally devoid of personality, no matter how many humanoid features they discarded. The effect was, in this case, something like a young child walking up to him to offer a refreshment.

_ Please place your order _, it said in a cheerful, synthesized voice, not from any obvious speaker.

Attar ordered a latte — the same blend they used at Constellation, though it lacked something outside the café atmosphere. When the drink was ready, it flowed into a biodegradable cup. “Thanks, friend,” he said as he took the drink.

_ You’re welcome. It seems that you needed it, Candidate. _

He raised an eyebrow. Any other time, an intelligent coffee dispenser would have been the strangest thing he’d come across in a day.

“So you’ve got me at a disadvantage, and that’s not something I’m used to. Do you have a name?” After a beat: “And I have to ask, what’s it like being a sentient coffee machine?”

_ You’ve changed very little, Attar. To your second question: it is fine. I like it neither less nor more than the other bodies I’ve inhabited, though I do appreciate seeing the world from ground level. And to your first— _

He blinked. “Liberty and Discovery.” He felt a sudden urge to kneel, to bring himself to the level of the coffee machine, but he wasn’t quite sure where to look. Seconds passed in silent indecision, and so he quickly bowed his head. “I apologize for my thoughtlessness. It is, of course, an honour to see you again.”

They did not acknowledge the bow or the apology. _ Are you ready to take on your responsibility as Candidate? _

“I think I have to be, at this point. There’s just so much more I wish I knew.”

_ There is much that you’ll learn, and much more that you’ll never know. But while I’m here, and you are waiting, I encourage you to make the best use of this time. Ask me something. _

On the spot, in front of a two-foot tall Divine, it was difficult to think of anything coherent, let alone insightful. “Previous candidates of Righteousness. They’ve been pushed to the edge, then past it. Everything I’ve seen and heard suggests that this thing is about to take over me. Is that true? Will I keep… any of me in there?”

The machine hummed softly for a few moments. _ I have known Righteousness for tens of thousands of years. We have shared a body and a Candidate. We are as much siblings as you and Quentin _. Attar exhaled slowly.

_ Imperfection is not in its vocabulary. Righteousness will eat away at your impurities, and if some virtue remains, that part of you will be yours to keep. If there is not, you will be consumed, and afterwards, discarded. _

The dispenser whirred as it turned around and rolled back into the building.

_ Good luck, Candidate. _

* * *

He kept staring at his wrists as he turned his arms over, back and forth. There was nothing there. No marking or symbol, no sensation. He kept feeling that there should be. He felt that he should be registering some second pulse.

They’d told him that linking with Righteousness would hurt, and they weren’t wrong. During the process, he moved, seemingly randomly, between unconsciousness, searing pain, and something different. At those times he was somewhere else, somewhere hot and dry and metallic. In a desert of machine waste, he heard a voice calling to him — his own voice. _ Ibex. Candidate Ibex _.

He had not overlooked that word during his time spent researching the animals of the old world. It felt awfully incongruous, to be standing in a flat wasteland while calling up images of curved horns and snowy peaks. But there was something thrilling about it all the same. _ Candidate Ibex _.

Attar — Ibex — had spoken with Divines before. He knew what it felt like to hear a voice that sounded like yours, but was still so impossibly different.

This was something else entirely. It did not speak to him like Liberty and Discovery, or even from within, like Grace. Staring at his wrists in a shadowed room, he barely heard Righteousness at all. The words in his mind sounded just like his own.

* * *

He leaned on the mica conference table elbow-first, one finger high up on his temple. The glass window in front of him commanded a view of a boundless field of fire and industry. No one had consulted Ibex about holding this meeting on Slate, but if they had, he probably would have opposed.

He wasn’t even sure whose decision it had been — probably hers. Sophomore Façade was in the middle of an impassioned speech about the bright future ahead of the Diasporatic Department of Material Resources: Slate Division. She wore a bright blue pant suit, thin strands of her blond hair whipping around as she gestured wildly to (or at) the assembled audience – mostly business executives, elected officials, a few respected researchers. Ibex tried to look past her ingratiating praise to find some deeper motivation, but there just wasn’t anything there. He shifted in his seat.

Glancing around the room, he locked eyes with Eland leaning against a corner where the window met a grey wall. When he realized that she was staring at him, he stared back. She was dressed from the neck down in a grey flight suit, covered with a simple hex pattern. Her long, silvered hair was tied back in a tight ponytail.

Ibex had met her once, a few years ago. Fifteen years old, steel in her eyes. Some of that resolve was gone, now — young Candidates don’t stay young for long — but he was impressed to see her standing here at all. Service’s relationship with their Candidate left no room for interpretation.

“But, of course, you’re not here to listen to a suit like me.” Sophomore laughed. “We all want to hear from the two Candidates in attendance, upholding the pillars of this partnership and of our bright and flourishing Democracy. Eland, would you like to speak first?”

She uncrossed her arms and took a few steps towards the centre of the window. In a slow cascade of panels, the scene changed from the skies over Slate to a digital screen. A video played, showing the assembly of many small subunits into a single form – fingers into a hand, pods into an arm, cubes into a torso. When the process was complete, the screen displayed the four-armed, humanoid body of Service. With a shattering animation, the glass panel became a window once again — now, with Service floating in view behind it. The room filled with excited whispers and a raucous round of applause, led by an enthusiastic Sophomore.

Ibex smirked. It was a nice trick.

“Assembled people of the Diaspora,” said Eland. Her voice was low and thick. “We are pleased to work towards a renewed alliance between Material Resources and the Automatic Corp, whose newly minted Candidate we’re honoured to be in the presence of today.” She nodded curtly at Ibex; he nodded back.

“To us, this partnership represents the best of what has always made the Diaspora so great. Tenacity. Commitment. Hard work.” Service punctuated each word with the clenching and loosening of its enormous, segmented fists.

“As we accumulate resources and build our resolve, we grow stronger. Soon, the whole of the Golden Branch will recognize our might. We will work, and we will serve, until our democracy is the best version of itself. We’re excited for the Automatic Corp and the people of Glimmer to do the same, and we look forward to what we may accomplish when our words and deeds are aligned.”

The assembled group cheered and applauded. Ibex clapped lightly. He knew propaganda when he heard it. He knew the sound of Grace’s voice coming from someone else’s mouth.

“Ibex, would you like to say a few words as well?” Sophomore smiled at him with a sideways glance.

“Well, I just might.” He stood up and lightly patted down his robes. He surveyed the assembled crowd and couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. How many of them knew who he was before he’d started speaking? Who did they really serve? Whose thoughts were just?

“There’s a funny irony, here.” He spoke quietly, forcing the people to halt their conversations and lean in. “The Liberty and Discovery Automatic Corp is the finest manufacturer of drones and unoccupied vehicles in the sector, but what’s always driven me is their focus on people. That’s what really matters, if you ask me. Righteousness has always been a Divine of the people.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. It was an exhilarating feeling.

“This partnership is a chance to bring all that power and all that strength to every last citizen of this democracy.”

It was the feeling of taking his finger off a garden hose as Righteousness poured out of him. The glass window sparked and the image shifted again — this time, spread across hundreds of display panels, it showed a montage of video clips captured by security cameras in the many factories of Slate. It showed workers: stained with oil and soot, sweating, labouring. The screen was a collage of their exhausted faces.

A few gasps punctuated a tide of agitated murmuring. Eland’s face flushed a bright red; her eyes flashed when they met his. The display faded and the window was again a window.

“After all, that’s what we’re all here to do.” Ibex scanned the room, nodding at every person who met his gaze, their lack of moral conviction so painfully obvious. “Right.”

* * *

He wasn’t sure if it was getting easier.

Ibex was buried in an avalanche of meetings, ceremonies, intrigues, and combats. In every one, he knew exactly what to say and exactly what move to make. He walked into a room with a suitcase and a smile, and walked out with a dozen new adoring allies, or cowed enemies.

Every now and then, he called Quentin.

“I don’t know how you do it!” his kid brother would say. “It’s like magic, all this stuff you pull off!”

He’d been on three planets in as many days. He was moving, barely eating, moving, sleeping even less, moving. And he had to keep going.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he’d laugh. “I guess I’ve just got the right words.”

“I hear them say that no one works with Righteousness as well as you. You’re the best Candidate it’s ever had!”

The words would speak themselves. Righteousness would hook its claws into machines mundane and Divine, and through him, its will would be done. It had footholds anywhere it needed to, places Ibex hadn’t even heard of.

“Well, I don’t know about that. But, hey. Stay in school, keep working hard. One day, this could be you.” He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them – if he’d spoken them.

“Of course I will! I’m gonna make you so proud, you’ll see!”

He hung up.

* * *

He ran a hand lightly over the arm of his tailored suit, a smooth and perfect fit. At a small table on a balcony, overlooking a midnight blue sea, Ibex sat and watched the waves roll in. His legs burned with the impetus to stand, to move, but he stayed put. Something weary and heavy inside him kept him glued to his seat.

A small coffee-dispensing robot hummed as it rolled up to him.

_ Please place your order, _ it said.

He pressed the appropriate button, and the machine poured a cup of black coffee. “Thanks,” said Ibex. “I don’t suppose that’s you, Liberty? Discovery?”

_ Thank you, and have a great day. _ It wheeled around and rolled away.

He sighed, and took the faintest sip of the coffee. Too hot. He put it down on the table with the lid off to let it cool.

The mechanical whir of the coffee dispenser faded and was replaced with a different sound, a lighter and more organic hum. A small, dragonfly-like drone hovered into view just above the table, its wings flapping in a rapid blur. Ibex laid his hand on the table, and the drone landed on top of it.

With layered buzzing noises that sounded like language, it spoke just a hair louder than a whisper. _ So, which of us has changed more since we last met here? _

Ibex smiled softly. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry, or both.

“I’m not sure that I know. But I’m glad you’re here. I, uh, needed to see you right now.” He teared up slightly. Cry, then.

_ It seems you still have your mind, Candidate Ibex. Would you say your fears were allayed? _

“Do I? Were they?” In his lap, his other hand clenched, nails digging into the skin of his palm. “Things just happen. I don’t know how I’m doing them, or why, or if it even is me. And my thoughts are—” He trailed off.

Ibex examined the dragonfly drone closely. It was crafted with detail, from the segmentation of its body to the delicate veining in its wings.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be the Candidate of Grace, or Loyalty, or Service, but I understand how that dynamic works. There is a Candidate, and there is a Divine. It’s a partnership. A conversation.”

Scenes from Eland’s memorial service ran through his mind. She’d suffered a stroke during a recent skirmish before even firing a shot. They hadn’t elected a new Candidate yet.

“The only voice I hear sounds just like mine. And God, it’s lonely.”

_ No Divine has gotten it right yet. _ The dragonfly flapped its wings once or twice. _ Not to my knowledge, at least. I rejected Candidacy because I knew what it was supposed to look like, and I knew it was beyond my reach. But Righteousness got closest, I think_.

Ibex shook his head.

_ The ideal form of Divinity and Candidacy is not harmony, it is unison. Two voices must become one, the conversation simultaneous and seamless. You always understood that better than the others, Righteousness. _

“I just can’t believe that’s true. I as in, uh…” He swallowed past something unpleasant and jarring. “As in me. Ibex. Attar.”

He brought the coffee cup up to his mouth to take a sip. His hand hadn’t shaken like this in years.

_ We are allowed to disagree on philosophy, Candidate Ibex. We are not allowed to disagree on the well-being of the Diaspora and the Golden Branch. _ The dragonfly lifted into the air. _ I’m going to go away for a while. _

Ibex looked out over the ocean. “Where will you go?”

_ I’m not sure yet. Sigilia. Maybe Counterweight. We’re on the edge of something deeply significant, and I need a fresh pair of eyes. _

“Will I see you again?”

_ I would imagine so. And I hope, when we do, you’ll have found some peace. But do not, in your quest to discover what Divinity is, neglect what it can do. You have a deep virtue, Ibex. The people need to see it used. _

“Thank you,” he whispered. The drone had already flown away.

But they were right, weren’t they? He was righteous — or else, why was he chosen as Candidate? And what did it matter whether his thoughts came from within or from Righteousness? They had the same goals. They were aligned.

And there was so much that needed to be done. Grace, OriCon, Apostolos… they all missed so much. Their people needed strength and unity. And he needed a plan — some way to bring them together before they destroyed themselves from within. Someone had to show them what virtue looked like, and what justice meant.

He could see the pieces falling into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm @asweeterpotato on Twitter and sweet potato in the Friends at the Table Discord. Feel free to say hi, offer critiques, or just chat!


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